Accident
by kaceyinspacey
Summary: Mr. Vincent Nigel Murray has an incident at the lab. When a lock-down is initiated, things start to go down hill for this intern. *not related to "A Hole in the Heart*
1. Chapter 1

"You need to sift through these remains. Hopefully you will be able to find the murder weapon," Dr. Brennan said absently to her eager intern. When she turned around, Mr. Nigel Murray rolled his eyes. He was well acquainted with doing the dirty work for his boss, but this was really…gross. He mentally kicked himself for the lack of a better adjective.

The first step would be to find a way to drain the puss from the body. Maybe a giant turkey baster. Yes, that should do the job. _Vile. Repugnant. Repulsive. Nauseating. _Mr. Nigel Murray was mentally listing off the words should have replaced _gross_ in his mental processing. As he was going through his internal vocabulary rolodex, he began to drain the liquid content of the body with a glorified vacuum cleaner. More scientific than a turkey baster, and a little bit more entertaining.

When the majority of the foul smelling puss was gone, Mr. Nigel Murray began to fish around with his gloved hands. There were a number of foreign objects in this poor man's fully exposed rib-cage. He assumed they were products of the body's less than ideal resting place; the dumpster at a construction site on the "wrong side of the tracks". No matter how long he was in America, these sayings and aphorisms would likely never make sense. For a minute, he reeled after getting a whiff of the body. Foul smelling was a grotesque understatement. While he had been around his fair share of nauseating bodily fluids and other things pertaining to deceased human beings, this was by far the most potent. There was something almost inimical about it; something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He was far from the type who believed in premonition or any other superstition for that matter, but there was definitely something "off" about this body.

The light-headedness came first. It was as though his body was ordering him to sit down. Mr. Nigel Murray tried to fight that urge, at least for a minute. It would not look good for him to pass out on the platform in the lab of the woman he admired most. It would be like a major league baseball player passing out when he was at bat. He smiled to himself at his American culture reference before the nausea hit. His knees gave out from underneath him, and he frantically grabbed at the table for anything that would keep him upright. He was too distracted by the falling to realize that he should have thought twice about grabbing blindly at the table.

Once he was safely on the ground, the nausea abated momentarily. As if they had planned it, as the nausea retreated a sharp pain in his left hand charged into battle. Everything was moving so quickly, but at the same time, he seemed to be frozen in time. When he finally got his arm and head to do what he wanted, he glanced at where the pain was coming from. There was blood dripping from his left palm, and on closer inspection, Vincent could see a nail protruding from his torn flesh. "Shit," he muttered under his breath.

Booth and Brennan had heard the fall, and they made it to the fallen intern just as he was uttering the first and last expletive they would hear from his mouth. Booth was immediately in soldier mode and he knew that they needed to move Mr. Nigel Murray. The floor around him was soiled with whatever substance was coming from the body. Lifting him carefully in his arms, Booth stood up slowly and made his way down the platform steps and towards one of the chairs.

Dr. Saroyan was already on her way over when Brennan called for her. When she saw the prone form in the chair, she picked up her pace to a run. "What happened?" she asked.

"Got dizzy…" Vincent answered weakly.


	2. Chapter 2

AN/ Thanks for the reviews! I still own nothing.

Chapter 2

Cam immediately switched into doctor mode. She quickly looked over Vincent, who was now moaning softly. Her eyes immediately settled over the bloody, still gloved, palm that Vincent was holding lightly in his other hand. That didn't look good. It was clearly rusted, and it went all the way through his hand. When she went to inspect it more closely, Mr. Nigel Murray flinched.

"I'm alright," he said. Then he added hopefully, "Let's just get back to work?" Yeah, like that was going to happen. Booth sighed. These squints did not have a very high pain tolerance.

Cam didn't dignify Vincent's outburst with a response. She just reached out and grabbed his wrist before he could react. "We need to get him to a hospital. Can you drive him, Booth?" she asked. Seeley nodded, helping the ailing intern to stand up. He put Vincent's good arm over his shoulder and wrapped his other arm around his slender waist. He probably could have just carried the man, seeing as how he weighed next to nothing, but he thought he should allow Vincent to walk off the field and keep his dignity intact. They were almost to the double doors out of the lab when an alarm sounded and the doors clicked, indicating that they were locked. That was definitely not good. "Uh oh," he heard Vincent mutter.

"What the hell is that?" Booth asked, knowing full well that it wouldn't bode well for them.

"That would be the alarm signifying the immediate lockdown. Did you know, the first alarm system was created in 1874. But I assure you it was much easier to bypass than this will be," Vincent explained. His voice sounded weak, but that wasn't going to stop him from filling Booth's head with useless facts. "Also, I think I might pass out. Just a bit of…forewarning." At that moment, Vincent's legs started to give out beneath him. Booth easily scooped Mr. Nigel Murray into his arms, heading back to the chair he had been sitting in earlier. Cam was on the phone with someone, and she was clearly very angry.

"You really couldn't have waited ten seconds before you jumped the gun and pulled that alarm?" Someone on the other end of the line was making excuses, but Cam would have nothing of it. "Just get down here and help us figure out what is going on."

She hung up with a huff. "It looks like Hodgins found something interesting in the sample of the slime he took from the body. It looks like we're going to be here for a while. We'll have to do our best to get Mr. Nigel Murray fixed up until we know what is going on," she said, brushing Vincent's hair off his forehead. He was already developing a fever. They had to get the nail out and clean the wound. She cringed inwardly, thinking of how unpleasant this was going to be for Vincent.

"Maybe we should take him to autopsy," Brennan chimed in. Vincent looked terrified.

"I'm not dead yet! I promise," he said quickly. "In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, they had a problem of burying bodies prematurely, and they started to put bells on the coffins that, if they did wake up, they could ring the bell and be…un-buried."

"I think what Bones means is that autopsy would be a better place to try to fix you up," Booth clarified. He gently picked Vincent back up and made his way to Cam's station. He wasn't oblivious to the pain he was causing the young intern. Every few steps it would jar him and Booth felt Vincent tense up in his arms, gasping. He helped Mr. Nigel Murray sit up on the sterile tabletop, though he doubted he would be upright much longer. He knew what was coming next, and it wasn't going to be pleasant for anyone, let alone Vincent.

"Guys! Where did everyone go?" They could hear Hodgins bellowing from the lab area. Angela and he had been the ones to initiate the alarm. He finally caught on to where everyone was and came running up. He was immediately silenced when he saw the state Vincent was in. Cam was starting to cut off the glove on his left hand, so she could see the extent of the damage. Vincent was trying to be silent, but every once in a while he would cringe and moan slightly.

Glad to have someone to take his mind off the pain, Vincent almost grinned up at Hodgins. "Ah Dr. Hodgins. And Angela. Nice of you to join us for this little…soiree. Did you know—" he was cut off when Cam hit an especially tender spot. Hodgins went to his friend's side and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You can tell me later, Vincent. Right now, someone needs to tell me what happened," He took on an agitated tone when he addressed the rest of the team. He was feeling very out of the loop. "First, though, has anyone had close contact with the puss that was inside the body? That's why I had to pull the alarm. It contained some pretty gnarly bacteria. I'm not sure what it is, but it looks a lot like Stachybotrys. Don't ask me how it got inside this guy, or what type of form it's in, but I think it's very safe to say that it's definitely bad news." While Hodgins was explaining this, Mr. Nigel Murray began to panic. He slowly raised his good hand, waiting for someone to notice him. Cam was busy getting her instruments ready to get the nail out.

Brennan noticed Vincent's need to say something first. "Yes, Mr. Nigel Murray?" she asked, as if he were a pupil in one of her lectures.

"I don't want to alarm anyone, but the nail that is currently lodged in my hand had previously been floating around in that sludge. Just thought I'd let you know." For being in such significant pain, Vincent was impressed with himself for being able to string together such eloquent sentences. But, god, his hand hurt. Cam had started to mop the area with antiseptic, and he suddenly felt the insatiable need to lie down. Booth saw the intern start to slump to the side, and jumped forward to lie him down gently.

Everyone had gone quiet, thinking about the repercussions of what Vincent had just said. Cam broke the silence. "I'm sorry Vincent, but I don't have anything to give you for the pain, but the nail has to come out now. Vincent shook his head, but not having the energy to argue with her, he nodded. Angela took Vincent's good hand in both of hers. She was uncomfortable seeing other people uncomfortable, but her motherly instincts showed up out of nowhere.

Cam took a deep breath and made an incision just below where the head of the nail was protruding from the palm. Instantly, Vincent started to squirm. As Cam worked, the squirming turned into writhing, and the team took their places around the table and tried to steady a semi-conscious Vincent. Booth gripped his arm so that Cam could work with out worrying about him flinching and causing more damage. Hodgins tried to keep him from kicking his legs too much as a subconscious means of escape. Cam grabbed the pliers and began to pull on the nail, hoping it would slide out without a hitch. Luckily, it slid out easily, but that did nothing to reduce the agony Vincent was in.

Brennan, uncharacteristically, was stroking her intern's sweating forehead and whispering encouraging words. She was a kind woman, but this type of tender affection was not her forte. Something she was saying was working, because Vincent visibly calmed slightly as she spoke. With the nail out, Cam set to cleaning the wound thoroughly. It was at this point that the writhing stopped. He had lost consciousness, which was a relief to his friends. Cam sighed in relief, knowing that he was probably in less pain now. She finished her work and stitched his hand up, front and back. The tension in the room was immediately reduced with the last stitch, and while they all knew they were far from out of the woods, Vincent was better off without that rusty nail sticking out of his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

AN/ Thanks for the review again! I'll do my best to keep updating this quickly. I still own nothing. If I did, episode 22 would have gone a lot differently.

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><p>Chapter Three<p>

They were all exhausted. Unfortunately, even while Mr. Nigel Murray was sleeping peacefully, there wasn't time for them to do likewise. Everyone had pushed the gnawing fear that Vincent's words had brought. The nail had been covered in the pathogen, and when it pierced his skin it likely infected him. Hodgins and Brennan were discussing the pathogen in hushed tones, while Angela and Cam stayed pretty near to Vincent. Every time he shifted or made any noise, they were immediately at his side.

Booth was feeling out of place. He didn't really have anything to add to the team, at this point. He decided to make a "sick-bed" on one of the couches with some emergency blankets. The autopsy table couldn't be very comfortable, and he wanted Vincent to be comfortable. As much as his "squint" antics got on his nerves, Booth had a soft spot for the kid. How old was he anyways? Twenty? Thirty? No, definitely closer to twenty than thirty. Could he even buy a drink at a bar? He was snapped out of his reverie by a hand on his shoulder. It was Brennan. She had a funny look in her eyes.

"Hodgins tested Mr. Nigel Murray's blood, and the pathogen did get in there, like we were afraid of," she stated matter-of-factly. Booth wasn't really sure what she wanted him to do about it, but he nodded anyways.

"I thought he would be more comfortable over here, so I made him a sick-bed like I do for Parker when he's sick. Parker calls them tacos, because the blanket folds down over him," Booth explained. "I think we should move him over here. There's nothing more we can do for him until we get out of this death-trap." He and Brennan walked over to autopsy where Vincent was starting to wake up. He was mumbling, and even though Booth couldn't understand what he was saying, he was sure it was some fact about something useless.

Angela was stroking his now forehead, trying to talk him back to reality. It was clear that he had a fever, because Booth could practically feel the heat rising off of his shaking body. "'m cold," Vincent was muttering. "Don' feel good."

"I know, sweetie. You're going to be fine, though. The worst is over," Angela soothed. Her hopeful words seemed to help, but then his eyes got wide. He weakly started to cough, and when Booth helped him onto his side, he emptied the meager contents of his stomach onto the floor, narrowly missing Booth's shoes.

"Sorry. Sorry," he mumbled, after he had finished. Booth hated when people apologized for something they have no control over. When he was about to scold Vincent for the unnecessary apology, Vincent interrupted him. "Well, at least I feel better. Next time I vomit, you should move your feet." Booth had been wrong about the kid. He was capable of standing up for himself.

"It's okay, buddy. I made you a nice bed on the couch, if you wanted to move over there," he said, patting Vincent on the shoulder paternally. Vincent nodded, and Booth once again hefted him into his arms and walked towards the couch. He really was burning up. He carefully placed Vincent on the couch and covered him up with the blanket. He had started to shiver. "There. That's better, isn't it?" he asked Vincent. The intern nodded and started to shiver more. Booth wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders, and Vincent snuggled deeply into the cushions and fell asleep. He was so dang child like, Booth felt like he was taking care of Parker. Booth sat in the armchair that accompanied the sofa and started to doze off.

Hodgins was still mulling over their problem. Dr. Brennan and he were in a heated discussion about the threat of the pathogen spreading. While Hodgins had been the one to initiate the lockdown in the first place, he was starting to think he had acted prematurely. The more he saw Mr. Nigel Murray suffer, the less sure he was of his actions. Dr. Brennan, on the other hand, was adamant that he had acted wisely.

"This is a form of the pathogen that we have never seen before. I'm sure Mr. Nigel Murray would agree that it is better to contain the spread to the lab," she said. It wasn't that she didn't care for her intern. He was actually her favorite, but that doesn't mean the city should be put in danger for him. "And besides, I'm already feeling the affects of just being near the pathogen for a short time."

Hodgins nodded, dejectedly. "I've been feeling like crap for a while too. We should see if anyone else is feeling the effects."

Vincent was starting to wake up again. Instantly, he wished he had stayed asleep. He was assaulted by pain in his hand as well as pain in his stomach. His lungs didn't feel great either. Cracking his eyes open carefully, not wanting to poke the beast that was his nausea, he saw Booth asleep in the chair next to him. While Seeley had been having thoughts about how young Vincent seemed, Mr. Nigel Murray was having the opposite thought about the FBI agent. He looked tired. Far from weak, but just tired. He went to adjust how he was laying on the couch, but his stomach churned dangerously. He internally scolded his stomach and told it stop rebelling. It didn't work.

After his last bout with nausea, someone (probably Booth), had placed a trash can by the couch. He'd have to remember to thank him for that later. In the meantime, however, he was busy emptying his already empty stomach into the can. This resulted in basically just dry heaves. With ever churn of his stomach, he became more and more defeated.

Booth awoke to the sound of the poor kid retching over the can that he had conveniently placed by the couch. The FBI agent was starting to feel achy, but he got up from his chair to rub Vincent's back anyways. The kid was shaking terribly, and when he was done heaving, he fell back heavily, moaning. "Better?" Booth asked.

Mr. Nigel Murray shook his head pitifully, getting really fed up with feeling so miserable. It had only been two hours since the lockdown was initiated, but it felt like two days. There was no reprise, even in sleep. It was a fitful sleep and he was awoken by his cramping stomach too often to allow much real sleep. "No," he said in barely more than a whisper. When his stomach cramped once more, he thought he was going to die. There was nothing left in his stomach to offer to the trash can. He knew it was not scientifically possible, but he was pretty sure he was going to look into the can and see his stomach laying on the bottom. He was grateful for the comfort that Booth was trying to bring to him. He didn't want to admit how miserable he was, but at the same time, what was the point in hiding it?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

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><p>He had really been anticipating rescue coming sooner. It had been a little over two hours since this fiasco started, and there was no sign of reprieve. The alarm had finally been silenced, but they were waiting for the Center for Disease Control to come and clear the scene. Hodgins had been on the phone with them for a while now, but Vincent was not really focused on what was going on with that. He was more focused on not dying. Sure, that was probably a little dramatic, but he was feeling a little entitled to some melodrama.<p>

Cam had wandered over to check on her patient. She had had the least contact with the pathogenic slime, and for that reason she was the only one in the lab that wasn't feeling ill. She wasn't aware that Vincent had been awake for a while, trapped in his musings. He saw her approach and smiled, albeit a little weakly. God, he was tired of being weak. "Hello, Dr. Saroyan. What brings you here?" he asked. It seemed his mouth was the one thing that he still had the energy to utilize.

"I didn't think you'd be awake, Mr. Nigel Murray," she said, smiling.

"Call me Vincent. I think that the formalities are a bit out of place, under the circumstances."

"Fine, but that means you have to call me Cam." He nodded, before closing his eyes tight with a wave of pain in his head, and stomach, and really everywhere. Cam cringed sympathetically. He looked positively miserable, and with good cause. She wished there was more she could do. "I'm going to check your hand."

This time, rather than nodding and causing himself pain, he answered audibly. "Okay," he said. As she started to unwrap his hand, he cringed. There were so many pains just in that single area. There was an achy type of pain he assumed was from the infection, a stabbing type of pain, and an itching type of pain from the healing that was taking place. He knew Cam was trying to be gentle, but it was agony as she started to prod at the wound. There was little doubt that infection was setting in. He was still feverish, and it was getting worse.

"The CDC should be here as soon as they can," Cam said, trying to ignore the pain she was causing him. She didn't want to, but the wound had to be cleaned. When Cam pulled out the peroxide, Vincent started to squirm.

He knew what was coming next. "Actually, Cam, I don't think that will be necessary. I think I hear the door-bell. Maybe it's the CDC. You should go and check," he rambled. Cam ignored him. The longer they had to wait, the more whiney he got. It made her realize how young he was. He could be her son, in all honesty.

When she finished wrapping his hand back up, Hodgins ran up, phone in hand. He was grinning. "The CDC wasn't going to get here soon enough, because they needed more information, so Booth took over. Turns out an FBI agent gets more heed than a scientist. Booth convinced them to set up a clean room at the hospital. We can go now." He was out of breath, and a little dizzy. This pathogen, what ever the hell it was, was acting quick. He'd already thrown up three times. Booth and Cam were the only ones unaffected, so far.

"Did you hear that Vincent? We're going to the hospital! They're gonna get you all fixed up," Cam was saying, smoothing his hair off his sweating forehead. Booth ran up and swooped Vincent into his arms without saying a word. The sooner they could get to the hospital, the better.

"Let's go. My car's parked out front," he said. The doors had been unlocked to the lab, and Cam had run ahead to open them. Vincent had lost consciousness with all the hustle and bustle. They approached the car, and Dr. Brennan had already opened the back seat. She was sitting in the back, and Booth settled Vincent so he was setting up against her. Cam jumped in the front seat. He threw an emergency blanket over him and ran around to the front seat, started the car, and took off towards the hospital. Everyone else was following in another car.

At the hospital, they were ushered into the wing they had set up, and Vincent was taken into another room. There was nothing to do but wait. Hodgins was talking to the doctors, filling them in on what he knew about the pathogen. At this point, their best bet was to ride it out. Vincent's fever had peaked and was coming down, and once they left the Jeffersonian, everyone else started to feel better.

Three Days Later

Vincent was the only one who hadn't been cleared and released from the hospital. The team had taken turns sitting in his room with him, listening to him ramble off useless facts. His temperature was back to normal, the infection in his hand had been cleared up, and he was feeling back to his normal self.

Booth and Dr. Brennan were taking their turns with Vincent, watching the Discovery Chanel. Booth complained, but these two squints would not be swayed.

"I think we should get a show, Dr. Brennan. We could make millions. Well, maybe thousands," Vincent said. Booth chuckled. Yeah, right. Like anyone would watch a show about these squints.


End file.
